Once

The ghosts of the past are more chilling than horror.

There was once a child who lived here,
dough-faced and round.
He smiled and ran and spoke
with passion. He dreamed.

The boy would play
and everything he saw
was new. The world
was no big thing.

I don't recall exactly when
he went away.
He played in the streets,
then drove through them,

and now he's gone.
This isn't who I am.